Need. To Stop. Reading. JPop. RPS. NOW.
But oh god it eats at my brain. A lot. So very, very distracting. And dudes, stop me from killing my iPod from overlistenig to Shuji to Akira's Seishun Amigo. And Yamashita Tomohisa's Daite Senorita. Please. Please.
So aside from my rather embarrassing decline into JPop-dom as opposed to JRock (Oh god, KAT-TUN fangirling, because those boys are NUTS and gay and CRAZY and just so, so funny) and being blown away by how different and sexy Yamapi's singing voice is to his normal voice, things are progressing normally. Last Sunday I was one of the minor bridesmaids in Maya's wedding, I have discovered a shop that actually caters to my impossible-to-buy-shoes-for-big-feet, and bought a pair of gorgeous olive green heels. The only drink from Starbucks that I actually like and am addicted to is still the mango passionfruit frappuccino and I just bought House season three box set, Supernatural season two boxset, Death Note one and two, along with The Vision of Escaflowne and 1 Litre no Namida which features the hot, hot, hot Nishikido Ryo from NewS(God, why do I like the snarky, evil bastards, anyway?). Vicki, the bint that she is, has gotten me addicted to Tygati's writing and I'm busily reading up her stuff. Vicki recommends the Kidnapped saga, and I swear, WHY DO YOU DO THIS TO ME?! It's too freakin' long, what with Maderrs version of it as well and GAH. But yes, my lack of willpower and their fantastic writing will see me flail as my lack of willpower sees with more late nights finishing it.
I have finished one of the three books that I bought recently, which were Neil Gaiman's Neverwhere, and I'm now reading Douglas Coupland's JPod and still have Janet Fitch's Paint it Black to go. Neverwhere... I adored. I love Neil Gaiman's works. I first read one of the Sandman series (Endless Nights, which I just found to be gorgeous) and then I read American Gods and really, he's shaping up to be one my favourite authors. It's fantasy at it's best and one thing I just loved about it all was how normal the main character was. It's just wonderful. And the Duke de Carabas is just this most amazing flawed character who's shady and cunning and selfish and greedy yet has these rare moments of humanity that's just all the more powerful for how much it juxtaposed his normal character, and how Neil Gaiman has twisted the London I know and love into the dark, interesting world of London Below is just... wow. Best characters are de Carabas and Door. It's touching, dark, ironic and funny and just wonderful. The awkward developing relationship between Door and Richard was just so realistically portrayed and... Yes. Much recommendation for this book.
JPod, from what I've read, promises to be a great read. It's ironic and sarcastic and just utterly brilliant. That is all I can say for now because really, I've a long ways to go before finishing.
I will be taking part in NaNoWriMo officially this year, I've decided, so I need to think up some ideas and pronto. I've one already that I'm contemplating and it's... interesting. Oft times quite dark but it promises to delve deeper into the human psyche, this idea of foreseeing the future and what that kind of power would do to someone, if it really is a gift or a curse. I'm also toying with a few ideas that I came up with before but haven't written, one of which is based on the concept of self-judgement after death, what you would do if you had no choice but to truthfully, without bias, set your own fate for either heaven or eternal damnation... and whether such things exist outside the scope of the individual's belief. It follows a young man who died too early, who had a bright future and endless talent, brought up Catholic and renouncing religion after he fell in love for the first time at the age of fourteen with the priest of the church his family frequented.
Another idea explores the concept of alternative worlds within art, if there was somehow a doorway to connect such things, how emotions and plots and memories are absorbed by them, contorting them constantly. It revolves especially around David's The Dead Marat painting, then goes on to a few others like Munch's The Scream and Manet's Bar at the Folies-Bergere. How realism and illusion blurs until it becomes unclear what is reality and what is illusion, and if it really was illusion or a different sort of reality.
Aside from that, a lighter horror/fantasy novel with romance, witty quips, handsome bastard anti-heroes and a sarcastic, mouthy, bitchy woman reluctantly placed in the role of heroine. Probably with vampires, or witches, or both.
The second brother made me watch Goal 1 and 2. And The Bourne Ultimatum just confirmed my love for the trilogy and Matt Damon and his sexy, sexy back. Guns, carchases, political intrigue and backstabbing, and assassins with a conscience, what's not to love?
Anyway, will go now. Need to finish blasted Akame RPS and stuff before wireless cuts down.
Tuesday, 23 October 2007
Monday, 8 October 2007
Monday, 17 September 2007
Hola.... travelling and other things
Ladies and gentlemen, I come to you from my brand spankin' new laptop. Meet Derek Z (Or Derek Zoolander, the "really, really ridiculously good looking" laptop), the black MacBook and my one true love. I am in supreme happy mode. Somehow, he is now also shortened to 'Dez'.
Anyway, it's been a while since I last updated. Nothing much has happened to me so far, except a few minor things of note... and some not so minor. I went to Cairo about two weeks ago. It was fantastic! We went to see the pyramids in Giza and Sakaara, we visited a tomb and went into the pyramid, which was an experience in itself. I sat on a camel, as did my parents. My mum was so scared, though. Camels are much taller than I expected them to be. Also, the skinny legs does in no way make you feel at all secure. Also, going down was kinda scary, but it was fun. Probably not for my mum, who screamed bloody murder, but hey. She even thought King Arthur was scary.
Egypt, or at least Cairo, is magical. At least to me. It's this cosmopolitan city packed full of cars, people and buildings yet it retains an almost otherworldly atmosphere. The buildings range from ultra modern steel and glass to crumbling 12th century stone which, by the way, is still being used. The range and style of architecture is amazing. It's parts ancient civilisation, parts modern cosmopolitan and parts genteel English (kinda weird, yes). The traffic scares the bejeezus out of me. Two lanes, what's that? It's a free for all. They jam pack as many lanes into one road as possible. There might be two different roads and you'd think one goes in one direction while the other goes another, but noooo.... it all depends on who gets there firts. There are cars driving over dividing pavement to get to the other road in order to escape one of their many, many traffic jams. There are all sorts of cars, Japanese, American, European... Yet the taxis are these quaint old models like from a sixties movie. Instead of buses, you see people packed into vans. Crossing the road is a death defying act.
The impression that Cairo gave me was noise and age. These people live at night. From the balcony of my hotel room I can hear a party rage on until about four or five in the morning. The food is fantastic, we had local cuisine in a gem of a restaurant that our tour guide took us to where they greeted new guests at the foot of the stairs with drums. It does the job of both making you feel extremely special and welcome, and also of informing the staff that there are guests. We saw two wrinkled old women with huge grins chatting and talking to each other while sitting cross legged next to two stiflingly hot stone ovens putting in homemade bread.
Our tour guide was a guy called Mohammad. He is an extremely informative guy, which one would expect from a tour guide. But it was more than that. He knew his Egyptian history back to front, as did most of the Egyptians we talked to. My mum said it right when she noted that they were "Egyptians first, Muslims second". To them, their ancient history is something they are still so aware of, something which they know so well. It's a matter of pride to them. However, it is not merely work or pride that was the cause of our guide's extensive knowledge, oh no. We discovered that Mohammad had a degree in Egyptology. The guide in the Egyptian Museum had a degree in Anthropology. He didn't look like it at all, he looked like a disreputable man way past his prime with yellowing teeth dotting with black, a wrinkled shirt that was once white but was now beige-ish. His hair was mostly salt than pepper. But he spoke clearly, confidently, knowledgeably. Around us, thousands of tourists walked the halls of the Museum looking at treasures, at weapons, at sculptures and coffins... thousands upon thousands of artifacts and while our guide gave us our tour in English, around us we heard tours in Russian, Spanish, Italian, French... all given by Egyptian guides.
I found out that in school in Egypt, one learnt, obviously, in Arabic. Not only that, but English as well. Some schools offered English and French. Others English and German and so on. Mohammad spoke English, Arabic and Spanish, his wife spoke English, Arabic, and her French was more fluent than her already excellent English. The daughter, Asmaa, spoke English, Arabic, a bit of French and Italian. Her sister learnt German. They are a very linguistically talented people.
What made Cairo also seem a little unreal is the geography, the landscape. It's a thriving city with the Nile running through New Cairo and lush greenery springing forth from there. There's a multitude of date trees, sweet mangoes and other delightfully fruit. But the other side, so very near to that green is the desert. Harsh, unforgiving, sweltering. The heat of it was everywhere in Cairo, but it's worse at the desert. The heat is almost physical there, weighing you down, draping over your body like a blanket.
The shopping there was great, though. We bought some interesting stuff. Essential oils, Egyptian cotton, papyrus paintings and the like. We got khartoushes made (name written in hieroglyphs) and I bought a pendant with the symbol of Isis. We went to one of the biggest bazaars and went shopping again, got some traditional Egyptian clothes, sipped tea by the sidewalk... it was nice. On Wednesday, we're going to Cape Town for a few days, my parents were raving about it so I can't wait to see what it's like.
Anyway, that's it from me for now. How's everyone?
Anyway, it's been a while since I last updated. Nothing much has happened to me so far, except a few minor things of note... and some not so minor. I went to Cairo about two weeks ago. It was fantastic! We went to see the pyramids in Giza and Sakaara, we visited a tomb and went into the pyramid, which was an experience in itself. I sat on a camel, as did my parents. My mum was so scared, though. Camels are much taller than I expected them to be. Also, the skinny legs does in no way make you feel at all secure. Also, going down was kinda scary, but it was fun. Probably not for my mum, who screamed bloody murder, but hey. She even thought King Arthur was scary.
Egypt, or at least Cairo, is magical. At least to me. It's this cosmopolitan city packed full of cars, people and buildings yet it retains an almost otherworldly atmosphere. The buildings range from ultra modern steel and glass to crumbling 12th century stone which, by the way, is still being used. The range and style of architecture is amazing. It's parts ancient civilisation, parts modern cosmopolitan and parts genteel English (kinda weird, yes). The traffic scares the bejeezus out of me. Two lanes, what's that? It's a free for all. They jam pack as many lanes into one road as possible. There might be two different roads and you'd think one goes in one direction while the other goes another, but noooo.... it all depends on who gets there firts. There are cars driving over dividing pavement to get to the other road in order to escape one of their many, many traffic jams. There are all sorts of cars, Japanese, American, European... Yet the taxis are these quaint old models like from a sixties movie. Instead of buses, you see people packed into vans. Crossing the road is a death defying act.
The impression that Cairo gave me was noise and age. These people live at night. From the balcony of my hotel room I can hear a party rage on until about four or five in the morning. The food is fantastic, we had local cuisine in a gem of a restaurant that our tour guide took us to where they greeted new guests at the foot of the stairs with drums. It does the job of both making you feel extremely special and welcome, and also of informing the staff that there are guests. We saw two wrinkled old women with huge grins chatting and talking to each other while sitting cross legged next to two stiflingly hot stone ovens putting in homemade bread.
Our tour guide was a guy called Mohammad. He is an extremely informative guy, which one would expect from a tour guide. But it was more than that. He knew his Egyptian history back to front, as did most of the Egyptians we talked to. My mum said it right when she noted that they were "Egyptians first, Muslims second". To them, their ancient history is something they are still so aware of, something which they know so well. It's a matter of pride to them. However, it is not merely work or pride that was the cause of our guide's extensive knowledge, oh no. We discovered that Mohammad had a degree in Egyptology. The guide in the Egyptian Museum had a degree in Anthropology. He didn't look like it at all, he looked like a disreputable man way past his prime with yellowing teeth dotting with black, a wrinkled shirt that was once white but was now beige-ish. His hair was mostly salt than pepper. But he spoke clearly, confidently, knowledgeably. Around us, thousands of tourists walked the halls of the Museum looking at treasures, at weapons, at sculptures and coffins... thousands upon thousands of artifacts and while our guide gave us our tour in English, around us we heard tours in Russian, Spanish, Italian, French... all given by Egyptian guides.
I found out that in school in Egypt, one learnt, obviously, in Arabic. Not only that, but English as well. Some schools offered English and French. Others English and German and so on. Mohammad spoke English, Arabic and Spanish, his wife spoke English, Arabic, and her French was more fluent than her already excellent English. The daughter, Asmaa, spoke English, Arabic, a bit of French and Italian. Her sister learnt German. They are a very linguistically talented people.
What made Cairo also seem a little unreal is the geography, the landscape. It's a thriving city with the Nile running through New Cairo and lush greenery springing forth from there. There's a multitude of date trees, sweet mangoes and other delightfully fruit. But the other side, so very near to that green is the desert. Harsh, unforgiving, sweltering. The heat of it was everywhere in Cairo, but it's worse at the desert. The heat is almost physical there, weighing you down, draping over your body like a blanket.
The shopping there was great, though. We bought some interesting stuff. Essential oils, Egyptian cotton, papyrus paintings and the like. We got khartoushes made (name written in hieroglyphs) and I bought a pendant with the symbol of Isis. We went to one of the biggest bazaars and went shopping again, got some traditional Egyptian clothes, sipped tea by the sidewalk... it was nice. On Wednesday, we're going to Cape Town for a few days, my parents were raving about it so I can't wait to see what it's like.
Anyway, that's it from me for now. How's everyone?
Monday, 20 August 2007
Recollections and formal goodbyes
You know what I miss? The little, simple things. Like waking up in the morning to watch cartoons (although to be fair, erase the morning and put in "afternoon", that would still sometimes be me), getting excited about the prize in a box of cereal... Hell. I don't get excited, but I still like them. I'm almost tempted to set up a collection. Why, I'm not quite sure...
I miss the smell of coffee and warm bread in the morning. I miss the rush to get up in time to get to school. I miss running a little to catch up with friends on the walk to school. I miss the rigid schedule (even though I said I'd hit myself if I ever thought that before I, well, I suppose I "graduated high school"). I miss waking up with only about two or three hours of sleep because I was up late the night before for absolutely no reason, or because I had overdue work. I miss doing my work by lamplight at night in my bed while my eyes just keep closing by their own volition. I miss meaning to wake up in the morning to finish up a bit of homework, only to hit the snooze button a million times because I was too tired due to sleepling late as usual, and ending up frantically trying to finish up the work due in that day in some other teacher's class, or just skipping whole chunks of lessons because "I had to go to the San due to a headache". Or stumbling into the house staffroom just before it was due to go for school, and croaking that I didn't "feel very well" and look suitably pathetic in order to be given a day off.
I miss climbing trees. Playing with the guy cousins because back before I hit about twelve, I was a complete tomboy who ignored her girl cousins and hung out with the boys because she feels more at home with them (right now, that very same tomboy who kickied a football around with the boys, skinned her knees and climbed trees has a large ratio of female over male friends, ironically enough).
I was part of a little trio with some of my cousins. Three of us born in the same year, two boys and a girl and I was the middle. I did everything with them. We played video games, we played those collectible card things... everything. I remember when we were at our grandparents' place one Raya when the boys and I snuck around with one of my older cousins and his friend from 'round the corner and we sat around and smoked. God, I couldn't have been more than twelve at that point. And I remember that the ruckus it caused when we got caught. Well, I said "we", but really it was only "them" because I was protected. They wouldn't sell me out.
My girl cousin, Niena, told me once that the boys of our muskateer group used to piss me off and I'd sulk over to their older sisters to play at being a girl, picking up a barbie doll. And the poor duo would later troup over to me and appologise and I'd forget about the girls and happily hung around with the boys again.
God, what happened to those days? I hardly ever talk to them anymore, those boy cousins of mine. We've gone off in completely different directions. One's a little punk, but then again he hasn't changed much from childhood. But he's alright. The other's gone and grown like a beanpole even though he used to be such a tiny kid. Hell, this is a late growth spurt since it came so recent. I was the tallest one of them all for such a long time, and, well, by Western standards I'm.... petitite. He wants to be a chef. Me? Still want to be an author. But oh, how it does feel like the impossible dream at the moment.
I've been distracted, recently. Haven't been able to write much of anything at all, but I will. I'll start. I have a year, I need to get my focus back. My sister... she's there for me completely and I don't know how I'll thank her. She's so encouraging, telling me that I should really focus on my writing now that I'm on my GAP year, encouraging me to write little articles or stories for magazines and such for work. I miss her. I'll hardly see her, since she's working in London and I'm back in Malaysia.
I'll miss everyone. I'll miss London. I'll miss going out to the tube at a moment's notice and go out with someone. I'll miss going 'round to the newsagent's for a pack of cigarettes whenever I've run out and chatting with the owner. I'll miss going to the pub whenever there's football on, and being surrounded by the exuberant crowd who's cheering along with me and laughing. I'll miss going to the park on a good day with my friends wtih a bottle of wine and paper cups and some food from convenience stores. I'll miss the performers in Covent Garden and Ben's Cookies. I'll miss Camden with it's dearth of people and bohemian charm, and the random Jamaican guys walking around going "do you want some marijuana? We got some marijuana", and the groups of people hanging around by the bridge with their instruments out. I'll miss the clothes, the mix of fashion on the streets from "messy" sloane chic, trousers down to your arse, business smart, drab casual, indie glam... Proper indie, not the oversold crap that everyone's dressed in that makes them look like the hybrid children of emo and commercial indie.
I'll miss KOKO and Bright Young Things nights with the girls in their fairy wings and the guys in the military jackets, the corsets and heels and pointy shoes and cigarettes and compliments on my fedora (which I have misplaced). I'll miss Fabric with it's endlessly long queues until five in the morning, and weed scented air and thunderous music and people utterly losing themselves in the hard beat of drum and bass. I'll miss the Gardening Club with it's supposedly "over 21s" age limit and cheesy music, it's friendly bouncers and the strange mix of crowd, but most of all teh nights I've spent there with my friends dancing to Pretty Woman, Sexy Back, Reach for the Stars, Ice Ice Baby and other ridiculously mixed up tracks.
So this... This is my formal goodbye. This is me saying, I'll miss you and I'll always love you not to a person, something I still haven't done yet. But to a place, a stage in my life. To school with it's iditoic beureaucracy, and rigid structure. To London and the independent, fun filled life I've lived there and the heartaches and the laughter that I've seen in it, gone through in it.
I'll be back to London, this I have complete fait in. I'll go back to London for Uni next year, because I'll have it no other way. I will go back to London. But to school, to the past over a decade of my life... I say good bye, it was nice to have been through you. You've taught me a lot.
I guess I'm only doing this now because I never had a formal goodbye at school. I left so suddenly after all, so abruptly. I didn't even go to Leaver's Ball. So... Bye. I have hardly any regrets and what I have... well, it's too late to change it, anyway. And it's not too big of a regret, anyway.
I miss the smell of coffee and warm bread in the morning. I miss the rush to get up in time to get to school. I miss running a little to catch up with friends on the walk to school. I miss the rigid schedule (even though I said I'd hit myself if I ever thought that before I, well, I suppose I "graduated high school"). I miss waking up with only about two or three hours of sleep because I was up late the night before for absolutely no reason, or because I had overdue work. I miss doing my work by lamplight at night in my bed while my eyes just keep closing by their own volition. I miss meaning to wake up in the morning to finish up a bit of homework, only to hit the snooze button a million times because I was too tired due to sleepling late as usual, and ending up frantically trying to finish up the work due in that day in some other teacher's class, or just skipping whole chunks of lessons because "I had to go to the San due to a headache". Or stumbling into the house staffroom just before it was due to go for school, and croaking that I didn't "feel very well" and look suitably pathetic in order to be given a day off.
I miss climbing trees. Playing with the guy cousins because back before I hit about twelve, I was a complete tomboy who ignored her girl cousins and hung out with the boys because she feels more at home with them (right now, that very same tomboy who kickied a football around with the boys, skinned her knees and climbed trees has a large ratio of female over male friends, ironically enough).
I was part of a little trio with some of my cousins. Three of us born in the same year, two boys and a girl and I was the middle. I did everything with them. We played video games, we played those collectible card things... everything. I remember when we were at our grandparents' place one Raya when the boys and I snuck around with one of my older cousins and his friend from 'round the corner and we sat around and smoked. God, I couldn't have been more than twelve at that point. And I remember that the ruckus it caused when we got caught. Well, I said "we", but really it was only "them" because I was protected. They wouldn't sell me out.
My girl cousin, Niena, told me once that the boys of our muskateer group used to piss me off and I'd sulk over to their older sisters to play at being a girl, picking up a barbie doll. And the poor duo would later troup over to me and appologise and I'd forget about the girls and happily hung around with the boys again.
God, what happened to those days? I hardly ever talk to them anymore, those boy cousins of mine. We've gone off in completely different directions. One's a little punk, but then again he hasn't changed much from childhood. But he's alright. The other's gone and grown like a beanpole even though he used to be such a tiny kid. Hell, this is a late growth spurt since it came so recent. I was the tallest one of them all for such a long time, and, well, by Western standards I'm.... petitite. He wants to be a chef. Me? Still want to be an author. But oh, how it does feel like the impossible dream at the moment.
I've been distracted, recently. Haven't been able to write much of anything at all, but I will. I'll start. I have a year, I need to get my focus back. My sister... she's there for me completely and I don't know how I'll thank her. She's so encouraging, telling me that I should really focus on my writing now that I'm on my GAP year, encouraging me to write little articles or stories for magazines and such for work. I miss her. I'll hardly see her, since she's working in London and I'm back in Malaysia.
I'll miss everyone. I'll miss London. I'll miss going out to the tube at a moment's notice and go out with someone. I'll miss going 'round to the newsagent's for a pack of cigarettes whenever I've run out and chatting with the owner. I'll miss going to the pub whenever there's football on, and being surrounded by the exuberant crowd who's cheering along with me and laughing. I'll miss going to the park on a good day with my friends wtih a bottle of wine and paper cups and some food from convenience stores. I'll miss the performers in Covent Garden and Ben's Cookies. I'll miss Camden with it's dearth of people and bohemian charm, and the random Jamaican guys walking around going "do you want some marijuana? We got some marijuana", and the groups of people hanging around by the bridge with their instruments out. I'll miss the clothes, the mix of fashion on the streets from "messy" sloane chic, trousers down to your arse, business smart, drab casual, indie glam... Proper indie, not the oversold crap that everyone's dressed in that makes them look like the hybrid children of emo and commercial indie.
I'll miss KOKO and Bright Young Things nights with the girls in their fairy wings and the guys in the military jackets, the corsets and heels and pointy shoes and cigarettes and compliments on my fedora (which I have misplaced). I'll miss Fabric with it's endlessly long queues until five in the morning, and weed scented air and thunderous music and people utterly losing themselves in the hard beat of drum and bass. I'll miss the Gardening Club with it's supposedly "over 21s" age limit and cheesy music, it's friendly bouncers and the strange mix of crowd, but most of all teh nights I've spent there with my friends dancing to Pretty Woman, Sexy Back, Reach for the Stars, Ice Ice Baby and other ridiculously mixed up tracks.
So this... This is my formal goodbye. This is me saying, I'll miss you and I'll always love you not to a person, something I still haven't done yet. But to a place, a stage in my life. To school with it's iditoic beureaucracy, and rigid structure. To London and the independent, fun filled life I've lived there and the heartaches and the laughter that I've seen in it, gone through in it.
I'll be back to London, this I have complete fait in. I'll go back to London for Uni next year, because I'll have it no other way. I will go back to London. But to school, to the past over a decade of my life... I say good bye, it was nice to have been through you. You've taught me a lot.
I guess I'm only doing this now because I never had a formal goodbye at school. I left so suddenly after all, so abruptly. I didn't even go to Leaver's Ball. So... Bye. I have hardly any regrets and what I have... well, it's too late to change it, anyway. And it's not too big of a regret, anyway.
Saturday, 12 May 2007
Untitled
I had a friend who said:
"I need to stop trying."
He sat by the window, on my bed,
And he seemed to be crying.
He was alone in this world,
Just trying hard to get by;
Is this what he meant that day?
What did he mean to say?
It's in the news, what he did,
He stood on top of a building, arms spread;
"God hates me," is what he said,
"Why did I have to be left all alone?"
The TV flickers in my room,
The channel's switched to the news;
It's half past four, it's on the clock,
I feel helpless, starig at a man with nothing to lose.
It's in the news, what he did,
He stood on top of a building, arms spread;
"God hates me," is what he said,
"Why did I have to be left all alone?"
It's cold, even though the sun's shining,
Why couldn't I see what he was planning?
He stood on a building, arms spread.
And Lord, he was smiling.
Smiling like he was free.
"I need to stop trying," is what he said,
It's the last thing he ever said to me.
"I need to stop trying."
He sat by the window, on my bed,
And he seemed to be crying.
He was alone in this world,
Just trying hard to get by;
Is this what he meant that day?
What did he mean to say?
It's in the news, what he did,
He stood on top of a building, arms spread;
"God hates me," is what he said,
"Why did I have to be left all alone?"
The TV flickers in my room,
The channel's switched to the news;
It's half past four, it's on the clock,
I feel helpless, starig at a man with nothing to lose.
It's in the news, what he did,
He stood on top of a building, arms spread;
"God hates me," is what he said,
"Why did I have to be left all alone?"
It's cold, even though the sun's shining,
Why couldn't I see what he was planning?
He stood on a building, arms spread.
And Lord, he was smiling.
Smiling like he was free.
"I need to stop trying," is what he said,
It's the last thing he ever said to me.
Thursday, 22 March 2007
...
So, uh, I bombed my mocks. *scratches head* And I've taken the cowardly way out and have ignored my parents' calls and my guardian's calls as well. Though to be fair I WAS ill for the past few days. And I'm feeling that headache brewing behind my eyes again. Oh god. Now I'm feeling properly chastened with my tail between my legs. All I want to do is to curl up in bed with the curtains drawn and sleep for the next hundred years. The whole waking up with true love's first kiss is entirely not necessary. Optional, but not necessary.
I've only got slightly over a week left until the end of term when it will finally be the Easter holidays and yet I'm not completely looking forward to that. Who would, though? I've only got three weeks, then comes the last term and my exams. My first exam is no the 24th of May, and my final exam is on the 25th of June. I have 12 papers including those units that I'm resitting. After which I have a week before Leaver's Ball, which I'm still contemplating not going. If I DO go, I'll have to start looking around for dresses. It's a bigger deal than prom, after all. Leaver's Ball is THE biggest event of the year, and it's our final party together. It's going to be black tie. The theme is 'Secret Garden' and the school usually has a huge marquee and uses a large part of the school grounds as part of it. They hire professional decorators, and apparently we have a casino room and a complete free flow of champagne and huge fireworks show. And when CLC says huge, it means MASSIVE.
In a way, I'm looking forward to it, the end, the big bang of my five years. The end of the end. It draws my school years to a close, finally, and then I will make my way. I'll go to Malaysia for the majority of my GAP year, I'll work, I'll garner some sort of life experience. I'll hang out with old friends, strengthen ties that have weakened, hopefully. And I'll meet new people, findo out new things, gather new experiences. I'm looking forward to it. I'll need to apply to University, though. I'll also need to re-write my personal statement.
I'm also going through a little crisis, though. In regards to what I want to do in Uni. Am I so sure that I want to spend three years doing History of Art and Archaeology? Do I really? I thought I did, I do love the subject but with abject failure staring at me in the face, I can't help but flounder and question myself. Do I really know what I want? Am I really capable of it? And what the hell do I even know about archaeology? I don't want this to be some spur-of-the-moment decision that I know it kind of was. I don't want to go to University and panic in the face of realising that I've made the biggest mistake in my life. Do I really want to face that in my life? Do I really want to go to Uni for three years doing something that I will find out that I have absolutely no talent for, or I have no interest in therefore I'll just snooze through and fail and utterly have nothing in my life?
It's all been so easy for me, you see. All my life, I've always somehow managed to scrape through doing the absolute minimum and sometimes not even that. I've been told that I'm a bright child. Things come to me easily, especially when I'm interested in it. Especially when I was younger. Whatever I've REALLy wanted to get I've managed to obtain with little effort. I wanted to go to KTJ for boarding school; I got in. I wanted to go to the UK to study before PMR, even though my grades were shite; I got into every. single. school I applied for and did the entrance exams for. For three of those four schools, they offered to put me up in the upper grade, despite my abysmal mathematics scores (to be fair, I hadn't learnt how to do some of the stuff that was on the paper) because apparently my English scores were more than above average enough for all of them to comment on it in the report. ALL of them commented on my English paper. So I got in, rather breezily. And while I stumbled on some of the subjects, as people do, I never really FAILED at anything. Which is a miracle in itself.
I'll admit this, freely. I'm a lazy shite. Completely. It's my weakness which I wish I had the power to get over. It's the one thing that I regret most about myself, this inability to work and be driven. I have no goals, no ambition and looking around me at my friends, at some of my acquaintances and seeing them go for their goals, seeing them REACH their goals, I'm left with a feeling of utter inadequacy. Who am I to feel comfortable in my abilities, who am I for some to envy when I have others who KNOW what they want from life and are not afraid to take it with both hands?
All of my life, for as long as I can remember I had one dream. One goal, one ambition. It has sustained me, it has lasted despite whatever things that have gone on in my life. It is the one constant thing in my fluctuating life. It is not ephemeral, not in flux. It is the only solid thing that I allow or that I welcome. I'm afraid that it is also this which has some cause for my behaviour, for my actions, for how I am. I won't make any excuses, I know I'm inherently lazy. It's just the way things are. But somehow it is made worse with the fact that I DO actually know what I want to do in life, have known since the first time I picked up a book, since the first time I learnt to read, since the first time I picked up a pen or pencil and put it to paper: I want to write.
My dream, my life, my sustaining breath and my complete weakness. My writing. I've found myself thinking, sometimes, that the other things didn't matter. What need have I for mathematics, for science, for geography when I wanted to WRITE? What could that help me in my future career. The majority of what I have learnt, I've realised, is ultimately useless in my life, in what I want to do. They are furnishings. They are something there so I can in the future say: I have done it. They are not essential. And it is with that thought, I think, that I have allowed myself to do absolutely fuckall in my life.
My mother told me that she's noticed me scribbling for as long as she can remember. She told me that I picked up a book and started reading earlier than she expected, earlier than my siblings. That I started writing before them. My command of language was better. They constantly make fun of the things I used to say when I was young, like when I was four and I looked at them, angry, and said, and I quote, "I have two words for you: N-O!".
It makes me laugh, thinking about it now. But it also irritates me and embarrasses me because they just will NOT let it go. Some part of me realises that they only do this because it wasn't a mistake I allowed myself to make after they took the complete piss out of me for years to come, immediately. It's the weakness I won't allow myself. My command of English came quick and quickly as well it usurped my command of Malay. I've never questioned it, all my life even when I was aware of how difficult getting work was, how the percentage of employment from University was lowering etc etc etc, I never worried, never faltered. I knew what I wanted. I wanted to be a writer, more specifically, an author. A novelist. It was my dream. I didn't want to be a Nobel Price of Literature winner, I had no such large dreams in life. I would like to be famous, or infamous, but only within my field. I have no great ambition of becoming a celebrity, open to the public eye. I'm a private person, after all. Besides, people have often said that if not a writer, then I will be a hermit. It makes me laugh, now, thinking about how UN-hermit like I was when I was just slightly younger and I wonder now what has made things change, what is it that has made me feel slightly detached from society at times, though I do enjoy the occasional social gathering. What was it that made me so fiercely protective of my own privacy, of my independence. Well, quasi-independence anyway.
Recently, reality hit and it hit hard. It was not a matter of what I want to do, not a matter of me questioning my life's choices in terms of a career. No, that has always been constant, even when I realised that I could not make writing be my bread and butter. I appreciate finer living too much for that, so the question of finding an alternate "job" to do to pay for my ultimate career is something I've accepted for a few years now. No, it wasn't if I still wanted to be a writer. It was if I was good enough to be one.
When it comes to banking, to law, to medicine people look to that with respect. They don't believe that they all can do it. It's specialised, it's difficult. But with writing... well, everyone thinks they can write. And unfortunately, there are a large number of people who can do it well, and I am friends or acquaintances with quite a large group. I've known someone whose writing was infamous on the net for a few years, now she is published. I know a few others, actually. I know others who think of writing as nothing more than a hobby and yet they have the ability to move me incredibly with their command of language. It tears me apart, to know that I have this dream, this vision... and yet not know if I'm good enough, if I'll ever BE good enough to succeed.
Eh, enough. Introspection, introspection, angst, blah. I'm late for class. Again.
I've only got slightly over a week left until the end of term when it will finally be the Easter holidays and yet I'm not completely looking forward to that. Who would, though? I've only got three weeks, then comes the last term and my exams. My first exam is no the 24th of May, and my final exam is on the 25th of June. I have 12 papers including those units that I'm resitting. After which I have a week before Leaver's Ball, which I'm still contemplating not going. If I DO go, I'll have to start looking around for dresses. It's a bigger deal than prom, after all. Leaver's Ball is THE biggest event of the year, and it's our final party together. It's going to be black tie. The theme is 'Secret Garden' and the school usually has a huge marquee and uses a large part of the school grounds as part of it. They hire professional decorators, and apparently we have a casino room and a complete free flow of champagne and huge fireworks show. And when CLC says huge, it means MASSIVE.
In a way, I'm looking forward to it, the end, the big bang of my five years. The end of the end. It draws my school years to a close, finally, and then I will make my way. I'll go to Malaysia for the majority of my GAP year, I'll work, I'll garner some sort of life experience. I'll hang out with old friends, strengthen ties that have weakened, hopefully. And I'll meet new people, findo out new things, gather new experiences. I'm looking forward to it. I'll need to apply to University, though. I'll also need to re-write my personal statement.
I'm also going through a little crisis, though. In regards to what I want to do in Uni. Am I so sure that I want to spend three years doing History of Art and Archaeology? Do I really? I thought I did, I do love the subject but with abject failure staring at me in the face, I can't help but flounder and question myself. Do I really know what I want? Am I really capable of it? And what the hell do I even know about archaeology? I don't want this to be some spur-of-the-moment decision that I know it kind of was. I don't want to go to University and panic in the face of realising that I've made the biggest mistake in my life. Do I really want to face that in my life? Do I really want to go to Uni for three years doing something that I will find out that I have absolutely no talent for, or I have no interest in therefore I'll just snooze through and fail and utterly have nothing in my life?
It's all been so easy for me, you see. All my life, I've always somehow managed to scrape through doing the absolute minimum and sometimes not even that. I've been told that I'm a bright child. Things come to me easily, especially when I'm interested in it. Especially when I was younger. Whatever I've REALLy wanted to get I've managed to obtain with little effort. I wanted to go to KTJ for boarding school; I got in. I wanted to go to the UK to study before PMR, even though my grades were shite; I got into every. single. school I applied for and did the entrance exams for. For three of those four schools, they offered to put me up in the upper grade, despite my abysmal mathematics scores (to be fair, I hadn't learnt how to do some of the stuff that was on the paper) because apparently my English scores were more than above average enough for all of them to comment on it in the report. ALL of them commented on my English paper. So I got in, rather breezily. And while I stumbled on some of the subjects, as people do, I never really FAILED at anything. Which is a miracle in itself.
I'll admit this, freely. I'm a lazy shite. Completely. It's my weakness which I wish I had the power to get over. It's the one thing that I regret most about myself, this inability to work and be driven. I have no goals, no ambition and looking around me at my friends, at some of my acquaintances and seeing them go for their goals, seeing them REACH their goals, I'm left with a feeling of utter inadequacy. Who am I to feel comfortable in my abilities, who am I for some to envy when I have others who KNOW what they want from life and are not afraid to take it with both hands?
All of my life, for as long as I can remember I had one dream. One goal, one ambition. It has sustained me, it has lasted despite whatever things that have gone on in my life. It is the one constant thing in my fluctuating life. It is not ephemeral, not in flux. It is the only solid thing that I allow or that I welcome. I'm afraid that it is also this which has some cause for my behaviour, for my actions, for how I am. I won't make any excuses, I know I'm inherently lazy. It's just the way things are. But somehow it is made worse with the fact that I DO actually know what I want to do in life, have known since the first time I picked up a book, since the first time I learnt to read, since the first time I picked up a pen or pencil and put it to paper: I want to write.
My dream, my life, my sustaining breath and my complete weakness. My writing. I've found myself thinking, sometimes, that the other things didn't matter. What need have I for mathematics, for science, for geography when I wanted to WRITE? What could that help me in my future career. The majority of what I have learnt, I've realised, is ultimately useless in my life, in what I want to do. They are furnishings. They are something there so I can in the future say: I have done it. They are not essential. And it is with that thought, I think, that I have allowed myself to do absolutely fuckall in my life.
My mother told me that she's noticed me scribbling for as long as she can remember. She told me that I picked up a book and started reading earlier than she expected, earlier than my siblings. That I started writing before them. My command of language was better. They constantly make fun of the things I used to say when I was young, like when I was four and I looked at them, angry, and said, and I quote, "I have two words for you: N-O!".
It makes me laugh, thinking about it now. But it also irritates me and embarrasses me because they just will NOT let it go. Some part of me realises that they only do this because it wasn't a mistake I allowed myself to make after they took the complete piss out of me for years to come, immediately. It's the weakness I won't allow myself. My command of English came quick and quickly as well it usurped my command of Malay. I've never questioned it, all my life even when I was aware of how difficult getting work was, how the percentage of employment from University was lowering etc etc etc, I never worried, never faltered. I knew what I wanted. I wanted to be a writer, more specifically, an author. A novelist. It was my dream. I didn't want to be a Nobel Price of Literature winner, I had no such large dreams in life. I would like to be famous, or infamous, but only within my field. I have no great ambition of becoming a celebrity, open to the public eye. I'm a private person, after all. Besides, people have often said that if not a writer, then I will be a hermit. It makes me laugh, now, thinking about how UN-hermit like I was when I was just slightly younger and I wonder now what has made things change, what is it that has made me feel slightly detached from society at times, though I do enjoy the occasional social gathering. What was it that made me so fiercely protective of my own privacy, of my independence. Well, quasi-independence anyway.
Recently, reality hit and it hit hard. It was not a matter of what I want to do, not a matter of me questioning my life's choices in terms of a career. No, that has always been constant, even when I realised that I could not make writing be my bread and butter. I appreciate finer living too much for that, so the question of finding an alternate "job" to do to pay for my ultimate career is something I've accepted for a few years now. No, it wasn't if I still wanted to be a writer. It was if I was good enough to be one.
When it comes to banking, to law, to medicine people look to that with respect. They don't believe that they all can do it. It's specialised, it's difficult. But with writing... well, everyone thinks they can write. And unfortunately, there are a large number of people who can do it well, and I am friends or acquaintances with quite a large group. I've known someone whose writing was infamous on the net for a few years, now she is published. I know a few others, actually. I know others who think of writing as nothing more than a hobby and yet they have the ability to move me incredibly with their command of language. It tears me apart, to know that I have this dream, this vision... and yet not know if I'm good enough, if I'll ever BE good enough to succeed.
Eh, enough. Introspection, introspection, angst, blah. I'm late for class. Again.
Friday, 2 March 2007
Introspection 101
It's the end of mock exams and I find myself feeling listless. I'm heading towards London after my drama lesson, a fact which annoys me greatly because I could've gone back yesterday if not for this lesson. I thought it prudent to attend, however, due to the fact that my exam is on the 16th, and I've barely remembered the lines as it is. It's a good script, though. Solid. And Ms. Mercati is really proving herself to be quite the director on this piece. However, I've known that for quite some time, now. After all, the woman has been my teacher for nearly five years.
Five years... has it really been that long since I left home, left KTJ, left Malaysia behind to face this, my new future? Has it really been that long since I've let go of my friends, of my previous "Malaysian" habits and embraced this culture? I spoke to Caz about just... life in general, what's expected of me in Malaysia and what she said... it rang so true yet never did it occur to me, but for the part of my mind I keep locked to all but myself. Sometimes. I play a dual role, in my life. Almost like I have Multiple Personality Disorder, in fact. I'm not the only one who does this, it is a fact that many change who they are according to different variables, such as location or the people they are with.
I... not only do I change myself to suit those I am with, but I change myself according to location as well. There is Malaysia!Me, and England!Me. There is the me that my friends know, the me that my old friends know, the me that my third brother and sister know, the me that my parents know, and the me that our family friends know. Within those groups it is branched as well: the younger generation, and the older generation. To the older generation I am scrupulously polite, I am somewhat traditional, I am intelligent. I am centred and self-assured and many other things that I am a little of, but not fully.
Caz said it always surprises her, unnerves her whenever she hears me talking to my parents, or talking of home and realising that what she is seeing is only one aspect of my personality. I've turned so Westernized in my ideals, in my manner, in my way of thinking that it becomes harder for me, as time goes by, to fall back into those compartments that I have organized my personality in. It's probably a lost cause, but I fight for that because a very large part of me does not want to upset the organization that had took me so long. I wonder, though, if the reason why it is so very difficult nowadays is because my personality is turning more and more sure, more concrete. Yet due to this, I cannot help but wonder... which is turning real? Which of my personality is manifesting itself? And is it really the right one?
Ah, no more. I dislike these moments of introspection. They give me a headache and I suspect they make me sound more and more like the whining child I was.
Five years... has it really been that long since I left home, left KTJ, left Malaysia behind to face this, my new future? Has it really been that long since I've let go of my friends, of my previous "Malaysian" habits and embraced this culture? I spoke to Caz about just... life in general, what's expected of me in Malaysia and what she said... it rang so true yet never did it occur to me, but for the part of my mind I keep locked to all but myself. Sometimes. I play a dual role, in my life. Almost like I have Multiple Personality Disorder, in fact. I'm not the only one who does this, it is a fact that many change who they are according to different variables, such as location or the people they are with.
I... not only do I change myself to suit those I am with, but I change myself according to location as well. There is Malaysia!Me, and England!Me. There is the me that my friends know, the me that my old friends know, the me that my third brother and sister know, the me that my parents know, and the me that our family friends know. Within those groups it is branched as well: the younger generation, and the older generation. To the older generation I am scrupulously polite, I am somewhat traditional, I am intelligent. I am centred and self-assured and many other things that I am a little of, but not fully.
Caz said it always surprises her, unnerves her whenever she hears me talking to my parents, or talking of home and realising that what she is seeing is only one aspect of my personality. I've turned so Westernized in my ideals, in my manner, in my way of thinking that it becomes harder for me, as time goes by, to fall back into those compartments that I have organized my personality in. It's probably a lost cause, but I fight for that because a very large part of me does not want to upset the organization that had took me so long. I wonder, though, if the reason why it is so very difficult nowadays is because my personality is turning more and more sure, more concrete. Yet due to this, I cannot help but wonder... which is turning real? Which of my personality is manifesting itself? And is it really the right one?
Ah, no more. I dislike these moments of introspection. They give me a headache and I suspect they make me sound more and more like the whining child I was.
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